


Heat Lightning

by the_genderman



Series: My 2020 MCU Kink Bingo Fics [1]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Hate Sex, Infidelity, M/M, bad laboratory practices, bad lube options, chem lab, fanfic is not sex ed, the 1970s were a lawless time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22341367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Hank Pym ended their relationship about a year ago, both private and professional. Howard either never got the message, or deliberately ignored it. Everything comes to a head suddenly one late evening at the lab.
Relationships: Hank Pym/Howard Stark
Series: My 2020 MCU Kink Bingo Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608199
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: MCU Kink Bingo Round 4





	Heat Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> 2020 MCU Kink Bingo square I-1 - Hate Sex.
> 
> Setting ~1971. And I know Fanfic Is Not Sex Ed, but please, please, don’t be like, “I wonder, could vacuum grease _actually_ work as lube?” I don’t know, but it’s thick, it’s greasy, and it’s gross. It can be present in a lab, however, and I don’t think Hank really cares that much by the time he grabs it.
> 
> Also, please don’t put organic solvents down the sink. Yes, I know the 1970s was a lawless land lacking in good laboratory practices, but we know better now. We probably knew better then.
> 
> Further note: Apparently, according to the MCU wiki, Howard Stark is at least 24 years older than Hank Pym, possibly up to 33 years older. I'm going for 25 year age difference in this fic; if that makes you uncomfortable, I won't be offended if you tab out.

“I know you know I’m here, Hank,” Howard said, pushing himself up from his lean against the door frame. He walked—sauntered, more like—across the lab toward the bench where Hank Pym was still working.

“Oh? Is that you, Stark?” Hank said, not taking his eyes off the reflux vessel bubbling away in front of him. He scribbled an observation in his notebook and shifted the test tube rack over one unit. He scooped up a stopper from the little pile next to him. “I thought a rat or some other kind of _pest_ had gotten in.”

“Oh, come on, you’re not still sour about that,” Howard said, picking up a spatula and tapping it against the benchtop.

“Of course I am, you ass,” Hank grumbled, still focusing on his experiment. Just few more aliquots to go and he could cool down the apparatus and head home. “I did the original research on that and you damn well know it. It’s just coincidence we both chose to use the same unusual catalyst that I had to synthesize _myself_ in this very lab? _Hardly_.”

“Aw, Hank, baby, don’t be so grumpy,” Howard said, his voice approaching a coo. “I saw it in the cabinet and thought it sounded promising. I didn’t know that was why you’d made it. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Well, if you’re not here to beg forgiveness, then why’d you come all the way down here?” Hank snapped, shifting his test tube rack again, marking and stoppering the previous tube.

“Well, you see,” Howard began, drawing out his words as he slouched back against the bench, eyes still on Hank, “Maria’s been so busy with the kid, I thought I’d give her a break from me for a night, get in a little overtime in the lab.”

“Ah,” Hank said, nodding to himself. “Translation: you’re not getting any at home, so you’ve come crawling back to me. We broke up, Howard. Because of ‘ _the kid_ ,’ as you call him. Maybe it was wrong of me not to break it off as soon as you announced your engagement. I thought I could overlook a little infidelity. I thought maybe it wasn’t serious, this late, just a show marriage—we all knew your reputation—but as soon as you said Maria had a baby on the way, I knew it was real. And then your little bit of research thievery sealed the deal. We’re done, we’ve _been_ done.”

“Hank, you wound me,” Howard said, pressing his hand to his chest dramatically. “After everything we had, you’re just gonna say no? Come on, baby, please. For old time’s sake, if nothing else. You can’t have forgotten already. We had a good thing.”

Hank snorted angrily. Howard placed a tentative hand on his back. Hank shook it off without a word. Howard hesitated, like he was going to try again, but stepped back. He found an empty bench and hefted himself up to sit on it, feet dangling a little off the floor. He said nothing, sitting in silence.

Put him out of your mind, Hank told himself. Treat him like any other piece of lab equipment. A shelf. An oven. A particularly large distillation apparatus. Just another bit of the background, something that could be safely ignored. Hank shifted his test tube rack again and stoppered and marked the tube.

Very few ovens, however, wore cologne. The significance of the sense of smell was so often ignored when compared to sight or touch. Howard’s cologne twisted its way into Hank’s senses, sparking memories of stolen moments and secret pleasures. The time he had spent with Howard in the lab had been good—the time he had spent with him in their homes, in hotels, even in the occasional supply closet, had been good. Hank told himself that he didn’t miss it.

He could tell himself he had was over Howard, but that would’ve been a lie. The happiness of their relationship may have evaporated, but the raw desire was still there, deep inside him and less volatile. It would take a far hotter flame to boil _that_ off. He hated that he still had these residual feelings lingering inside him.

Hank stoppered and labeled the last test tube and shifted a beaker under the end of the condenser to catch the last few waste drips. He turned the key on the Bunsen burner, watching the flame flare high and hot for a brief moment before extinguishing it. He turned to face Howard.

“Why are you here, Howard?” Hank asked with a sigh both resigned and angry, his face stormy. He crossed his arms over his chest as if he could block Howard out, keep the lust from resurfacing.

“You have to ask?” Howard replied, leaning back on his hands and tapping one heel against the bench cabinet door.

“I want to hear you say it. Plain and out loud so there’s no questions.”

“You drive a hard bargain, baby.”

Hank stared back at Howard, not shifting, not ceding any ground.

“Alright,” Howard purred. “Hank, I want you to make sweet love to me like you used to do. I miss you.”

“Mmm,” Hank hummed, still visibly peeved. “I don’t think I have any ‘sweet love’ in stock, nor will I in the foreseeable future. Best I can do is bend you over for a quick fuck. Take it or leave it.”

“I guess I’ll take it, then,” Howard huffed, the cheek gone from his voice. He slipped down off the benchtop, unbuckling his belt as he went. As he turned, he slipped his pants and undershorts down just to the tops of his thighs. He braced his arms on the bench and leaned over, presenting his ass.

Hank sighed and slowly unbuttoned his pants. He glanced around the shelves, trying to figure out what he could use, or if he’d have to renegotiate his terms. He didn’t particularly want to do anything that carried the risk of having to look Howard in the face when he came. His eye stopped on a half-empty tube of vacuum grease. It wasn’t ideal, but it might just do the job.

“What’s taking so long?” Howard asked. “I thought you kept a little slick around for times like this.”

“Not since…” Hank replied, trailing off. He grabbed the grease. “Anyway. I think I found something. It’s gonna be messy, but you can take it or leave it.”

“We got showers, do your worst,” Howard snipped.

Without speaking, Hank pulled out a latex glove, uncapped the tube, and squeezed out a sizable blob of the thick grease. He smeared it between his fingers and thumb, slicking up before pressing his fingertips to Howard’s hole. He hated how much he’d missed this feeling, the anticipation and hunger that swelled in him as he worked Howard open. He hated how much he missed what he and Howard had had. He hated how hard he was already. He hated Howard for betraying him. He hated Howard for reminding him how much he _wasn’t_ over him. He pushed his fingers in, working him as rough as he could without actually hurting him.

“Ooh, baby, haven’t felt _that_ in a long time,” Howard groaned. 

Hank narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Late August thunder rumbled in his head, the kind that came without rain and did nothing to break the heat and sweat of stifling nights. He wasn’t going to think about what _had_ been. He pulled his fingers out and squeezed more grease out of the tube. Slicking up his traitorous cock, he stripped off the glove and grabbed Howard’s buttocks. He spread him open and slipped in.

It wasn’t the easy slide of proper lube, but it wasn’t dry skin on skin; he could fuck Howard rough and hard without making him bleed. He’d be sore when it was over, but soreness would pass quickly enough. He hated him enough to _want_ to hurt him, but at the same time, he _didn’t_. Damn the man. He slid one hand up to Howard’s hip and dug his fingers in, the other groping around for his cock. Hank buried himself deep inside Howard, fucking and stroking him with short, hard thrusts, jaw clenched as he told himself this was the _last_ time. Howard grunted, gasped, and scraped his fingernails against the benchtop.

“Yeah, that’s it, ooh, baby, right there,” Howard panted. “God, I forgot how good you were, you always could—”

Hank cut Howard off with a thrust that turned his words to yelping moans. He felt Howard clench down on him as he came but he didn’t stop. If Howard wanted him to fuck him, he was gonna fuck him to completion. Make him _earn_ this little tryst. Hank’s world whited out and crashed around him like heat lightning as he came. He spilled himself out into Howard. Into him, onto him, a viscous mix of come and grease oozing down his ass and taint as he withdrew. 

The spell broke. Hank grabbed a handful of KimWipes and cleaned his hand and cock off as best he could before tucking himself back into his undershorts. He zipped up his pants and turned back to his own bench. He could hear Howard breathing heavily behind him, but he didn’t care anymore. He pushed the reflux apparatus back into its nook, dumped the waste beaker down the sink, and moved the rack of test tubes into a safe cabinet. Just a little extra clean-up after a long day’s work, that was all.

“Ah, to be a young man again,” Howard murmured over the sound of his zipper. Then, a little louder, “I need a cigarette after that. Can I bum one off of you?”

“I know you know I don’t smoke,” Hank replied without turning to look at Howard. After a moment he added “But maybe check Siebold’s bench, second drawer, I think he keeps a pack of Luckies in there.”

The sound of a drawer opening, then a pleased little “aha!”, the tap of a pack of cigarettes against the palm of a hand, and the soft click of a lighter. Howard sighed.

“Any chance we could do this again any time soon? I really missed this,” Howard wheedled.

Hank bit his tongue. There were so many words Howard needed to hear. “Go home, Howard,” he finally said. “Go home to your _wife_ and _son_.”

Silence, then footsteps, receding out of the lab.

As soon as Hank was sure Howard was gone, he smacked the heel of his fist against the benchtop and ground it down, like he could grind out and destroy whatever feelings he once had. He should never have let Howard get to him like that. It was over between them.


End file.
